


Prompts

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Almost relapsing, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Angst, Anxiety, Arguing, Baking, Character Death, Companionable Snark, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Constipation, Family Fluff, Game Shows, Heavy Angst, Hotels, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mercy Killing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painkillers, Past Drug Addiction, Past Relationship(s), Protectiveness, Relationship Problems, Sleepy Cuddles, Smoking, Terminal Illnesses, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, attempted drug use, post Family Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: As the title suggests, an ongoing collection of prompts I've taken over on Tumblr.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Bookworm, Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Dying of Sickness - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "How would Jon and Bookworm react if the other was dying from a sickness with no chance of recovery?"

Edwin doesn’t know what else to do except stay by Jonathan’s side until the bleak and bitter end, trying his best to hide his fear and anguish despite knowing full well the ex psychologist can read him like a book. Even through the constant pain that only increases over the days, he knows _exactly_ what Edwin’s thinking without him so much as opening his mouth, and makes his best efforts to comfort him even when he becomes too weak to manage more than turning his head and whispering to him that everything will be alright. Nevertheless, Edwin tries to spare Jonathan’s nerves and stay strong, doting on him tenfold, bustling around their bedroom, trying not to complain too much that Jonathan really should let him take him to the hospital, _honestly, you’re overreacting, you’ll be safe, they’ll be able to help you, save you, you won’t have to leave me-_ When it becomes undeniable that Jonathan _cannot_ and _will not_ survive, Edwin begins to spend even more time with his ailing love, completely disappearing from the outside world and holing up in their room, too terrified of not being there for him until the end to so much as feed himself, much less move more than a foot away from their bed. He all but cries himself into the grave right after Jonathan when he finally succumbs, sobbing over his pale, rapidly cooling corpse until he has the sense to call someone. Not that he can form any words to communicate what’s wrong. He’s too weak to move when they arrive, or hold onto him as they move him despite how desperately much he wants to. After the funeral- the finest Edwin can afford, with a full band playing his favorite old folk songs, authentic southern cuisine being served, and his treasured copy of _Sleepy Hollow_ tucked into his body’s arms, something he swears he can hear him saying is far beyond his grade and standing- Edwin’s health declines rapidly. At least Jonathan won’t have to wait long.

Jonathan can’t stand to see this brilliant, talented, ingenious, lovingly kind man waste away like this. Part of him wishes he was more forceful, more insistent that going into the hospital would be a death sentence, or that he was more vigilant about his health, more watchful and did more, but regrets won’t help Edwin now. He swears under his breath as he fills the stolen syringe with the pilfered liquid pentobarbital, cursing the blinding artificial light, the disgusting, chemically clean smell of the room, the beeping machines, the tense agony on Edwin’s sleeping face, the _entire damned situation_. Pushing down the plunger less than a millimeter, deeming the flow of the syringe clear, Jonathan steps over to his bed- And stops. Grimacing at himself, his lip curling and his nose wrinkling at his further failure to act when needed, he leans over to sweetly kiss the sleeping man, trying to convey all the things he was too terrified to ever say to him aloud in the simple, mere seconds long gesture. It could never be enough. Pulling away, Jonathan gently, ever so gently moves Edwin’s chin to the side, stroking his cheek with his calloused thumb as he empties the syringe, watching the liquid slide down the tick marks as the plunger forced it out into his veins. The forged documents and falsified statement on the door will keep the staff at bay long enough for Edwin to pass peacefully in his sleep. Far closer to what he deserves than the slow death he was diagnosed with. Once the doctors realize something is wrong, barging in to find an infamous chemical terrorist and serial killer watching over their patient, Jonathan quickly flees the government sanctioned death trap and back into the dark streets. He finds the seediest bar he can to have his first drop of real alcohol since he promised Edwin he’d quit for good. More than a drop. A shot. _A glass. A pint. **More than enough**_ to ensure it would be his last.


	2. (AU) Happy Family - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bookcrow + no one's a super villain, every one got the therapy they need family au? :,3" for a three sentence AU fic
> 
> A/N: I don’t usually go for AUs that make everything “perfect,” but I had a cute idea, a n d it gives me an excuse to do something with Tucker (my partner’s boy) so I made an exception. :p

Jonathan was meant to be remaking the bed, and while music coming from his and Edwin’s room doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t, seeing him carefully carry Tucker in both arms as he dances with the toddler is rather incriminating. Nevertheless, Edwin can’t help but smile as he watches the two, listening to Jonathan softly sing to Tucker. The sheets can wait, Edwin thinks to himself as he leans against the doorframe.


	3. (AU) Steampunk - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bookcrow Steampunk AU" for a three sentence AU fic

The audible turning of the massive wheel, a low groan interspersed with small clangs, brings a bright but smug smile to the inventor’s face, Edwin turning and asking, “is the ‘useless installation’ treatimg you well, dear?”

Setting the vials of various shapes and sizes cradled in his long arms down on his nearby desk, adjusting the glinting, steel instruments there, Jonathan lowers the magnifier over his spectacles, setting to work as he grumbles, “it jumps too much.”

“I’ll be sure to adjust it, dear,” Edwin says with a knowing chuckle, counting that as a seal of approval.


	4. Lying - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Why are you lying to me?” - Bookcrow

“Jon?” Edwin asks gently.

A grunt is the scientist’s eloquent response.

“Will you be coming to bed anytime soon?” Edwin furthers.

A quiter, less convincing grunt. Edwin frowns, stepping over to Jonathan looking out the window and standing next to him.

After a moment of trying to see if he might spot what Jonathan is watching, Edwin asks, “are you alright, dearest?”

“I’m fine,” Jonathan answers automatically.

“Are you certain?” Edwin asks.

“Yes,” Jonathan says.

Frowning further, Edwin asks, “why are you lying to me?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Jonathan quickly denies, turning his head to look at him.

“Then tell me what’s troubling you,” Edwin urges, holding out his hand without taking Jonathan’s.

The taller man looks down at the offered hand then back at its owner’s face before hooking a finger around Edwin’s, silently turning his head to look back out the window. Neither say anything for a moment, Edwin watching Jonathan as he stares out at the night clad city.

“My paranoia is acting up again, that’s all,” Jonathan finally says. 

Edwin can immediately tell that’s far from _all_ , but he doesn’t push it. “Are you certain you aren’t tired?”

Jonathan nods, back to not speaking.

“Would you like me to sit up with you?” Edwin asks.

Turning his head abruptly but only slightly, his body tensing, Jonathan says, “I’ll come to bed.”

Only further worried by this sudden shift in standing but not wanting to agitate Jonathan further, Edwin tries his best to smile comfortingly and lead him to their room. As soon as they’re both under the covers, Jonathan’s arm wraps around Edwin tighter than usual, pulling him close, close enough to feel his heart beating slightly faster than it should be. Enough to make Edwin think, and remember.

“What are you hearing?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing now,” Jonathan says. Before Edwin can further inquire, he mumbles, “they’re leaving. They won’t hurt you.”

For the third time, Edwin is only more unsettled by Jonathan’s words, eyes widening as he wonders _where_ “they’re” leaving from, but says nothing of it. He only nods slightly and cuddles up closer to Jonathan, kissing his collarbone and resting a hand against his chest. While it’s beneficial to have a partner with such heightened senses, it does take a toll on both of their sanities. Especially in a city with sounds like Gotham. He can only hope Jonathan doesn’t worry himself all night, despite knowing full well he may.


	5. Go With Me? - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Go with me?” “As long as you hold my hand.” - Bookcrow

Edwin knows Jonathan despises him attending business by himself. Especially after he’d just come home from Madrid, only to be made to skip off to the Lounge later that same afternoon, missing him as well as worrying for his safety however much he refuses to admit it. While Edwin isn’t pleased about the sudden meeting either, Oswald made it appear urgent- though the definition is unreliable with him- and he’s more than capable of handling himself should things head south with his trusted business partner for the first time in years. Not to mention, though he hides it well, Jonathan’s overprotective fretting has a tendency to grow old from time to time. Edwin appreciates it nevertheless, doing his best to remember it comes from love, and genuine concern rather than any doubt of his capabilities or lack of trust. Lord knows trusting _Edwin_ is far from the issue, more so fully trusting absolutely anyone else in their criminal circles. Except Harley, of course.

“It will only be for a couple hours, I promise you,” Edwin says as he straightens his tie in the window’s reflection.

“Then how long will the _after_ meeting be?” Jonathan asks crossly with a slight curling of his lip, purposefully not looking up from his book.

Refraining from letting out a sigh, Edwin turns to Jonathan to assure, “I have no intention of staying longer than necessary. I would like to _rest_ and sleep off the lingering jetlag, not bundle up to assist Oswald with his feathered clients or whatever he may be calling upon my help for.”

Jonathan makes no effort to mask the doubt in his scoff but says nothing, only turning the page of his book and gently pushing Mary’s beak away from the cover. _Sleepy Hollow_. That specific copy being a tool used for self soothing, or attempts thereof. Watching him for a moment, gently shooing Mary away when she goes to land on the shoulder of his _brand new_ coat, Edwin steps over to the side of the couch.

“Will you go with me?” he asks softly.

Though the younger man maintains his crotchety demeanor, the unimpressed glance he shoots Edwin is betrayed by a look in his features that communicates something along the lines of, “as long as you hold my hand.” He doesn’t say it aloud, of course not. He never would, but the equal hesitations to let Edwin attend business on his own and to willingly enter Oswald’s algid aviary evidently deem this exception of physical contact- despite his apparent _nasty_ mood- a safe compromise. Edwin offers him a small smile at this, keeping the knowingness out of the expression.

After one more scrutinizing glance, Jonathan sighs through his nose, carefully closes the book in his lap, folds his long fingers over its cover, and says, “fine.”

His smile growing, Edwin says, “hurry up, then, _Knuddelkrähe_. I don’t think either of us want to listen to Oswald complain about punctuality.”

Rolling his eyes at the pet name but complying, Jonathan carries his book with him to their room, Edwin patiently waiting as he puts it safely away and gathers his own additional outer layers, the inventor unable to keep from smiling just a little bit more as he pets Mary’s head. The only thing that would make curling up in _his own_ bed after this impromptu meeting better is Jonathan’s surprisingly lovely cuddles, which are a guarantee given the frigid temperature of the Lounge always getting to the scientist no matter the amount of coats he wears.


	6. Attempts at Flirting - Scriddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?” - Scriddler
> 
> A/N: though it's written in present tense, this is a past event. Because I struggle with maintaining past tense. :p

“ _Jooonathan_ ,” Edward calls in an almost melodic tone, inviting himself into the older man’s workspace.

He’s acknowledged with what can hardly be called a glance as the scientist continues to jot something down. Frowning, Edward strolls further into the lab slash office, leaning right up against the desk Jonathan stands at, slightly hunched over as he writes and reads over the notepad before him.

Watching- obviously unimpressed- for a moment, the ginger-brunet laments, “you know, it’s an awful shame, a dinner for two with only one present.”

“Suppose so,” Jonathan agrees.

“Even worse is a bed half empty,” Edward tries again.

“Mhm,” Jonathan says, crossing something out.

Lifting himself up to sit on the edge of the desk, Edward sweetly asks, “would you mind to help me right these wrongs, dear?”

“Give me a moment,” Jonathan says dismissively, waving him off with his free hand.

Edward glares daggers at Jonathan’s head for that. While he is at least actually _somewhat_ listening for once, more than usual, he’s either not getting the hint or refusing to. With a purposefully loud sigh, the genius snidely ponders to himself how such an intelligent man can be so utterly dense, before the problem occurs to him, that being a mere error of mistranslation. He had neglected to take into consideration that the brilliant man’s only experience with romance has been cheesy, half baked, trashy pick up lines and even more blunt compliments. Lord knows Edward can’t be _entirely_ blunt, however, and nowhere near as tasteless.

“You look rather stunning, my dear Doctor Crane,” Edward says. “There’s almost a divine sort of look about you this particular evening.”

Pausing and narrowing his eyes, Jonathan visibly processes Edward’s honeyed words for a moment before asking, “…Are you flirting with me?”

“You finally noticed?” Edward returns with a smirk.

“Why?” The question nearly knocks Edward from his perch, yet the scientist looks at him as serious as ever.

“Wh- What do you mean ‘ _why_?’” Edward asks incredulously.

“We’re already in a romantic relationship,” Jonathan states, as if that wasn’t obvious. “What other reason would you have for flirting but to pursue such an arrangement?”

“You’re kidding,” Edward says. “Did- Did any of your ‘girlfriends’ flirt with you?”

“Not unless they wanted-…” Electing not to finish his answer, Jonathan turns his attention back to his notes, a quickly spreading pink in his cheeks betraying his focused expression.

“Oh, you poor, used, neglected thing,” Edward says, only mostly teasing.

Jonathan huffs indignantly at this, only for his personal space to be promptly invaded, the scientist shooting a displeased glare at the offending genius. Who, as he has more and more since they became an item none too terribly long ago, decides to press his luck, ducking under Jonathan’s writing arm and pushing the unoccupied one away, thus effectively situating himself only a couple inches apart from the irritable older man. Before he can so much as open his mouth to snap at Edward, however, the genius snakes an arm around his narrow waist, the other guiding Jonathan’s own to do so in kind as he leans closer.

“What if it’s not _that_ which I want?” Edward asks, batting his lashes.

“That’d be a first,” Jonathan says dryly, keeping a relatively straight face despite the extreme closeness, close enough that their chests touch each time either of them breathes in.

“I am allowed to just want to spend a romantic night and cuddle with you, Jonathan,” Edward says with another frown, almost a pout.

Studying Edward’s face for a moment, looking for any hint of smugness or anything to tell him this is just another game, Jonathan eventually concedes by rolling his eyes and dropping his pencil onto his notepad. Making no effort to hide how pleased he is, Edward promptly turns the taller man around and leads him towards the stairs, beginning to prattle on about whatever he plans on spending the night doing. Jonathan doesn’t really listen, more preoccupied by his words, and wondering what else he _still_ has to learn. At least it will be Edward teaching him, which he realizes is something he might possibly be looking forward to. Just a little bit. Maybe… Damn him and his hold on these pesky emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Jon and Eddie's relationship wasn't the healthiest or most stable, it was still more genuine than any the former had prior, and Eddie helped him form at least something of an idea as to what a relationship _should_ be.


	7. Sweet - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Please just kiss me already.” - Bookcrow
> 
> A/N: three fun facts; I used to be terrified of ovens and stovetops after repeatedly burning myself pretty bad by accident on them, once I got over that fear I found out I really enjoy cooking and especially baking, and I project onto both Jon AND Edwin :p

It’s rather uncommon for both Jonathan and Edwin to have more than one day lined up without anywhere to be, anyone to see, or anything to do, much less three in a row. Furthermore, it’s practically _unheard of_ for Jonathan to not spend the majority of his down time still working. While Edwin is guilty of tinkering some and finishing projects already almost complete on such occasions, he’s also capable of making the best of them and actually _relaxing_. The only reason Jonathan isn’t presently cooped up in his lab is Edwin having lovingly forced him out in the effort to do something together. Though he was extremely annoyed at first- which he made abundantly obvious with plenty of huffing, grumbling, and swearing- Jonathan has come around to the idea after a few suggestions, deciding to take Edwin up on a previous request. One that both terrifies and excites Edwin, both due to prior experience. Jonathan will attempt teaching him how to bake. Praline brownies, specifically. Something easy to start with, but not degradingly or dully so. Edwin was never good in the kitchen, always managing to somehow set at least one thing alight when working with food, something Jonathan affectionately rolls his eyes at when the inventor reminds him.

“That would be an impressive feat in and of itself,” Jonathan assures. “Brownies don’t require a flame, just heat, which is well contained inside the oven.”

“Right,” Edwin says. Anxiously glancing at the bakeware and ingredients, he asks, “are… Are you _certain_ this is a simple enough recipe?”

“Mhm,” Jonathan assures with a nod, removing a saucepan from the stove and carrying it over. “It’s almost entirely just a fair amount of measuring and mixing, one ingredient at a time. I’ve got the few directions memorized, but they’re all written down as well if you’d prefer reading over them. The oven has to preheat in the preparations, but I’ve already melted the butter so we don’t have to be near it until the batter’s ready to bake, and I can set the pan in then. After that, the only thing left is to play hurry up and wait.”

“Alright,” Edwin says, more to himself than Jonathan, “that does _seem_ simple enough…”

“You’ll do just fine, darlin’, don’t fret,” Jonathan says, retrieving the larger mixing bowl and measuring cups from the set on the counter. “Hand me two eggs, if you would.”

Nodding, Edwin does as he’s asked, passing Jonathan the ingredients as he requests them and adds them to the mixture, undergoing the tasks with an air of reverential concentration that makes it difficult for the taller man to maintain his trademarked stoic expression. Though he is nowhere near as malicious as many would make him out to be, Jonathan can’t help but find enjoyment in others’ discomfort as they experiment and experience new things. Something both the psychologist and the professor in him have an influence over, reservedly delighted in watching a person’s reactions and their learning process. Of course, mildly teasing others is rather enjoyable as well.

A slight humored tone in his otherwise low, flat voice, Jonathan asks, “would you like to attempt making the frosting?”

“I- Do you think I’m…?” Edwin asks, nervously looking at Jonathan then to the smaller mixing bowl, still sitting off to the side.

“My professional opinion is _you’re_ overthinking yourself and the task at hand,” Jonathan states.

Taking a moment to catch the teasing quality of his statement, Edwin makes a face as he grabs the bowl and slyly says, “you haven’t been ‘professional’ in years.”

“License or no, I’m still far more qualified than any of the damfool simpletons Arkham has in its employ today,” Jonathan says.

“You and I both know that wasn’t the category of ‘professionalism’ I was criticizing, dearest,” Edwin says with a coquettish smirk and what may be his own ribbing tone, a somewhat successful attempt at covering up the still present hesitation in his voice.

Catching it nevertheless, and filing that less than appropriate jab away for another time, Jonathan leaves his mixing for the moment to move over just next to Edwin, gently handing him the tablespoon measures and the cocoa, reminding him of the measurement and standing by just long enough for him to start adding the powder in himself. He continues to patiently remind him of what to put in next, even as he pours his own mixture into the cooking pan and sets it in the oven. Just as Jonathan turns his back to set the timer, however, he catches Edwin jumping slightly out of the corner of his eye, looking back to find he’d managed to stir overzealous enough to launch some of the developing frosting onto himself. Without thinking, Jonathan licks his thumb and wipes the spot off the other’s cheek, freezing when he realizes what he’s doing. His thumb pressed against Edwin’s cheek while his curled fingers tip his chin up, they look at each other in silence for a moment, an all but imperceptible pink washing over Jonathan’s gaunt cheeks. Gently touching Jonathan’s wrist, Edwin tries to read the intent in his expression, deciding it to be a pointless effort as the other man remains motionless.

After another few seconds tick by, Edwin playfully says, “please just kiss me already.”

Having apparently been infected with Edwin’s prior apprehension, Jonathan slowly moves in to oblige, until the shorter man gets tired of waiting and pulls him down. The scientist jumps and a shudder runs through him, but he reciprocates, his eyes fluttering closed of their own accord as both men’s lips sweetly caress each other’s. Until the timer beeps, seeming far louder than usual in the moment, startling both of them. Embarrassed, Jonathan quickly mumbles something and turns away again to open the oven, Edwin lightly giggling as he returns to mixing the frosting.

Once it’s finished, Jonathan directs Edwin to spread the frosting over the brownies, his long fingered hand- gentle despite the calluses- encompassing the inventor’s smaller one just long enough to show him the motions, before cutting them, setting out two on a plate to cool as they both lean against the counter. With another smile, Edwin reaches up to gently stroke Jonathan's cheek, the scientist letting him guide him down to press one, two, three kisses to his nose, lips, and chin before kissing him again proper. Assuming all endeavors would result with similar moments of affections, Edwin certainly wouldn’t mind pursuing this whole baking thing. If mostly for the kisses. Though Jonathan _does_ make very good sweets, despite not having much of a taste for them… Oh well, more for Edwin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About five minutes afterwards, Edwin managed to accidentally turn one of the burners on and catch a dishrag on fire. Maybe he'll try baking again _much_ later.


	8. Surprise? - Scriddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You’re insane.” “You love me.” “Not right now I don’t.” - Scriddler
> 
> A/N: Look me in the eye and tell me Eddie didn't obsessively watch game shows whenever he had television access growing up (and onward.)

Looking around at the mess before him, colored sticky notes scattered around all areas of the bedroom not occupied by some sort of mechanism like some demented game of Twister, Jonathan flatly says, “you’re insane.”

“You love me,” Edward immediately counters.

“Not right now I don’t,” Jonathan grumbles. “My leg aches just looking at this shit.”

“Just try it!” Edward pleads.

“Try _what_?” Jonathan asks. “What the hell am I supposed to be capable of accomplishing with this- Whatever this is?”

“Following the directions, of course,” Edward says happily.

Giving him a deadpan look, Jonathan says, “if today is the day you’ve set to kill me, I’d much prefer a simple bullet.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Edward says, rolling his eyes. “This is no death trap, my dear. Only a nice little puzzle to lead up to your surprise.”

“I’m plenty surprised already,” Jonathan says, attempting to turn around and leave the room.

“ _Hey_!” Edward shouts, grabbing Jonathan’s arm and keeping him from leaving. He knows if he really wanted to, the scientist could free himself, yet he simply lets Edward pull him back with a resigned sigh, something that seems promising and prompts him to explain, “all you have to do is read the notes, follow their instructions, and complete the puzzle.”

“Then you’ll clean up the bedroom?” Jonathan asks.

Making a face, Edward says, “yes, I’ll clean. Now go, hurry up, chop chop!”

Shooting the genius a venomous glare, Jonathan steps forward into the room, hanging his head and adjusting his glasses to look at the note at his feet. He stands there for a moment in silence, back turned to Edward, before looking over his shoulder.

“I have absolutely no idea what this says,” he states.

“Oh, come _on_ , Jon,” Edward whines. “It’s a simple cypher you’ve seen me use a thousand times!”

“Not a clue,” Jonathan says, shaking his head.

Narrowing his eyes, Edward studies Jonathan for a moment before stating, “…You’re playing dumb.”

“‘Least it didn’t take you long to notice,” Jonathan says.

“Would you just give it an honest, actual try?” Edward pleads.

“Ed, darlin’, honey,” Jonathan grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’ve been awake for _three days_. If you force me to do this damn puzzle, I’m replacing your cologne with fear gas.”

Taking his turn to sigh, quite overdramatically at that, Edward says with a pout, “fine. I’ll let you rest your poor, old bones.” Quickly changing his tone, he holds up a finger and adds, “if, and _only_ if! You watch the game show channel with me. They’re having a Classic Concentration marathon, and I haven’t seen it in _ages_. I was going to tape it instead, but this will do just fine. It isn’t trivia based, as I know you tire of those, but rather…”

Jonathan tunes out the explanation, simply nodding in agreement and allowing Edward to lead him away to the sitting room, feeling his exhaustion increase tenfold at the promise of actually being able to sleep. He’ll no doubt have a crick in his neck after falling asleep sitting up on the couch, but at least there’ll be _sleep_ involved. And that’s assuming Edward doesn’t have him lay across him as he has an affinity for doing. Not that Jonathan minds. Not at heart. He certainly complains about it, sweet as a gesture it may be. Perhaps not this time, given it’s beneficial. Maybe he’ll even seek it out first, rest his head on Edward’s shoulder, wrap an arm around him…

Before the introduction of the first episode is over, Edward is distracted by Jonathan’s snoring, a particularly loud sound given his mouth being mere inches from his ear. With yet another sigh, he carefully moves the scientist to rest his head in Edward’s lap, quickly turning of his own accord to wrap both arms around his waist and nuzzle his cheek against his leg. Edward can’t help but smile affectionately at this, carding his fingers through Jonathan’s wavy brown hair and hearing him hum in contentment, a sound heard few and far between. The quiet moment seems to stretch on forever over the minutes, both rogues silent in their mutual comfort… Until a contestant incorrectly solves the _extremely_ obvious puzzle, prompting Edward to shout at the screen, which in turn causes Jonathan’s entire body to jump as he’s startled awake again, nails fortunately digging into the back of the couch behind Edward instead of his body. Sitting up with a glare, Jonathan pointedly removes his glasses, grabs a throw pillow, sets it in Edward’s lap, and lays his head down again, Edward only rolling his eyes and going back to playing with Jonathan’s hair. So much for sleeping.


	9. Recurrence - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't worry, I'm here." - Bookcrow
> 
> A/N: Warning for semi-detailed description of almost relapsing. (Francis is safe, just spooked.)

Insufferable. Unbearable. Intolerable. Unendurable. _Overpowering_. The fish crow shrieking at him does nothing to help the godawful migraine seemingly tearing Jonathan’s head apart from the inside out. Neither does the sickening feeling deep in his chest, arcing out into his limbs and causing them to shake as he struggles with both the pill bottle and the persistent bird hounding him, dive bombing him in an attempt to take the neon orange plastic container away. He can’t handle it anymore. The anguish, the dread, the screaming- _The fucking **screaming**_. He needs to be numb again. Even if just for a moment. Losing his patience, he swats at Francis as he swoops at him again, knocking the crow away. He should feel bad. He knows he should. The only things he feels are relief as Francis finally flies away out of the room, and returning frustration as his shaking hands once again struggle with opening the pill bottle.

The pain- emotional, mental, physical- only gets worse as he fights with the damn thing, his sanity seeming to unravel all around him as the room spins. To make matters worse, just as he manages to get the lid off, something loud and piercing rushes over to him, another something squawking and throwing a fit as a hand grabs his wrist and the other yanks the bottle of opioids away, his nerves setting alight and his skin burning, forcing a yelp from his throat. Shaking all the more now, he tries to pull his arm away as he turns to face his assailant, only for his grip to hold strong and the furious look on his typically happy face to freeze Jonathan in place. More or less.

“What the _hell_ are you _doing_?” Edwin seethes, glaring up at Jonathan. Not giving him the chance to explain himself, he continues, “Francis nearly gave me a heart attack, and now I find you trying _this_ again? We discussed this, Jonathan!”

“P-Please let go-” Jonathan asks, voice trembling, quiet, and meek.

“I am not allowing you to take it back,” Edwin states, holding the pill bottle away at arm’s length.

“I don’t want- _Please_ -” Jonathan begs, trying to pull his arm away. “It- Hurts-”

His anger dissolving almost immediately at the genuine pain in his words, Edwin quickly removes his hand, taking a step back and saying, “I- I apologize, I hadn't…” Forcing a stern tone into his voice, he continues, “I was frightened. I apologize. I… Please walk with me.”

Putting the lid back on the bottle, wondering where he even got the damn stuff in the first place, Edwin sets it on the counter and starts heading out of the kitchen. Yet Jonathan remains rooted to the spot, staring at the bottle.

“ _Jon_ ,” Edwin urges, gently but firmly.

“I-I don’t want it,” Jonathan mumbles, “but I need…”

“Jon, please,” Edwin asks, stepping back over to him. “Leave it be. Let’s go and sit down.”

Offering Jonathan his hand, Edwin patiently stands beside him, watching his face and the fight with himself exhibited in his expression. He can’t help but slightly, silently gasp as tears begin welling in Jonathan’s eyes.

“I- I- Oh, _Christ_ -” Jonathan rasps out, the realization of what he’d almost done evident in the ashamed tone in his voice, quickly pushing up his glasses and hiding his face with both hands.

Edwin watches him for a moment, unsure of what to do, before taking a deep breath and placing his hand on Jonathan’s upper arm. When he only flinches slightly, not pushing him away or shrugging him off, he gently leads the distressed scientist away and out of the kitchen, bringing him to rest on the loveseat in their sitting room. He’s surprised when Jonathan, of his own accord, leans down to hide his face in the crook of his neck, but Edwin immediately sets to comforting him, gently kneading his shoulder, then wrapping an arm around him when he doesn’t turn away from that. He’s prepared to take his arm away again when Jonathan grips his shirt, only for him to pull himself closer to Edwin.

“I’m sorry- I-I’m sorry, I-” Jonathan chokes out, audibly struggling to keep himself from crying anymore. “I don’t- I shouldn’t’ve- I- Promised and I-”

“Shh, you’re alright, dearest,” Edwin says quietly, still rubbing his shoulder. “You didn’t take any. You’re okay.”

“I _promised_ , but I-I- I don’t want to, but- I almost-” Jonathan continues.

“Please don’t worry,” Edwin soothes, holding him closer, “I’m here. You won’t- You won’t. I’ll help you make sure of it.”

Staying silent for a moment, save for poorly muffled sounds, Jonathan mumbles, “th-thank you.”

“Of course, _Liebling_ ,” Edwin says. “You needn’t suffer alone any longer if you don’t want to. You know I’m always willing to help if you merely ask m-”

“It… Came out of nowhere,” Jonathan interrupts. Hesitating, he adds, “…a few days ago.”

“Oh, Jon,” Edwin says, holding back his sigh.

“They- The urges come back every y-year or so,” Jonathan admits. “They would usually just- Go away. I could always ignore them, but…”

“You need a better way to cope than that, my love,” Edwin points out. Before Jonathan can interject again, he adds, “for now, however, you should focus on calming yourself down. I’ll see to the bottle for you later.”

Nodding, Jonathan slowly removes his hands from his face, resting his head against Edwin’s shoulder and wrapping his arms loosely around the inventor. Edwin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and sweetly kisses him just below on his jaw, carefully moving his legs to lay across his own. He’ll hold Jonathan to working on his coping skills, but Lord knows they both need comforting as of now.


	10. Communication - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I am so tired of this." - Bookcrow

He can tell Jonathan is upset, but everytime he asks, he gets the same responses; _‘nothing,’ ‘I’m fine,’ ‘not to worry.’_ The lack of an answer, of course, causes Edwin to assume the worst. Was someone injured? Was Jonathan attacked? Did _he_ do something to hurt him? It’s so painfully obvious something is wrong. He’s smoking more, he won’t sleep, he spends most of his time working, he doesn’t talk to his birds, much less his partner. Edwin can hear him whimpering when he _does_ get to sleep, but pushes him away and walks out of the room when he wakes him, leaving Edwin alone in their bed to wonder what’s troubling Jonathan so. To make matters worse, the more Edwin asks, the more anger seems to overtake Jonathan’s perturbed mood, yet he still won’t explain beyond _‘I’m fine.’_

“I believe it’s fairly clear that you’re not,” Edwin says after one such dismissal, sitting across from Jonathan in the kitchenette.

He only grunts in response, too busy staring holes in the floor to so much as glance at Edwin.

His frown deepening, Edwin asks, “have I done something?”

“No,” Jonathan answers automatically.

“Then what’s vexing you, dearest?” Edwin asks.

Another grunt, this time punctuated by a slight shift of his body away from the other.

“Jon,” Edwin says, “please talk with me.”

“Shut up,” Jonathan grumbles.

Shocked enough to hesitate for a moment, Edwin tries again, “Jon-”

“I said _shut up_ ,” Jonathan growls, looking up to glare at him, scarred lip twitching in a direct result of his anger.

Struggling to keep his demeanor calm, Edwin says, “I simply-”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, goddammit?” Jonathan asks.

“I’m worried about you,” Edwin answers.

“You don’t have to be!” Jonathan shouts, finally snapping. “I can take care of my own damn problems!”

“I’m well aware that you can, but if you would only tell me what’s happened-” Edwin starts.

“ _Why_?” Jonathan demands. “Why do you have to know?”

“Because I want to help you!” Edwin says back.

“I don’t _want_ your shitty help!” Jonathan returns.

Voice wavering, Edwin says, “Jon, please, I-”

“ _Fuck off_!” Jonathan yells at full volume.

The tightness in his chest suddenly increasing, feeling as if he’s been hit, Edwin only stares at Jonathan, shaking in his seat as stinging tears begin welling up in his eyes, the scientist visibly unphased and returning his icy stare to freezing the wood floor at his feet. Rising from his seat, Edwin looks at Jonathan for just a moment more, before quickly rushing into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Jonathan doesn’t react, save for retrieving a lighter and pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag, letting it out again in a smoky sigh.

Around an hour later, Edwin exits his shelter, clad in his coat and scarf, the handle of his blue leather suitcase held tightly in his hand. Focused solely on the door, refusing to turn away from it as if that may lead him off course, his face set in a sorrowful attempt of an angry expression.

“Where the hell are you going?” Jonathan asks.

Seemingly thinking aloud, not even glancing at Jonathan as he passes, Edwin mumbles, “I’m so tired…”

“ _Where are you going_?” Jonathan repeats, repositioning himself in his seat to watch him.

A thud resonates in the tense air as Edwin drops his suitcase at the door, turning just enough to half face Jonathan, eyes red and puffy.

“I am so tired of this,” Edwin says, voice still warbling and wavered. “I can’t- If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, I-I can’t bear to stay here with you acting like this.”

Jonathan’s expression hardens once again at that. Edwin’s certain he’s going to start yelling again, only for the other man to coolly say, “fine. Leave. Good riddance.”

With a puff of smoke, Jonathan turns away once more, tapping the end of his sixth cigarette against a coffee cup to dislodge the ashes. Unwilling to cry in front of him again, Edwin snatches up his suitcase and throws open the door, quickly closing it behind him to stop the painful feelings from giving chase as he flees down the hall to the elevator. Yet as he stands within it, waiting to reach the bottom, they come seeping through to catch up with him, filling the air around him until he’s suffocating.

He wastes no time running for the exit once the doors open, climbing into the waiting car himself before Mr. Fredrickson can even get out. Edwin doesn’t say anything to him, simply hugging his luggage to his chest and sniffling. He’d already told him his destination over the phone, not that he really had to anyhow. Not much of a guess as to where he’s going. This has been happening more and more. This is the eighth fight this month, and the third time Edwin has ran away to spend the next night or two at the Lounge. Jonathan always apologizes once he comes home, only for it to happen all over again. He’s nearing the end of his rope with this game of emotional cat and mouse, yet he doesn’t know how to end it without ending everything. If only Jonathan could learn to _talk with him_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jon voice] We've reached a point in our relationship where I'm comfortable enough to allow you to sleep in the same bed as me- whether or not there was sexual activity beforehand or will be afterwards- am open more often than not for prolonged purely romantic physical affections, and I want to protect you at all costs. Time to try scaring you away and making you hate me.


	11. Just Visiting - Bookcrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Do you need a hug?" - Bookcrow

Opening the door and setting his luggage just inside, Edwin drags his tired body towards the bed and flops over into it, only just taking his glasses off before his face makes contact with the blanket. Jonathan, stepping in just behind Edwin, sets his own singular suitcase by the dresser before carefully moving the other’s luggage out of the way as well, letting out a small exhale from his nose intended to be something of a laugh at his partner’s haphazard way of lying on the bed.

“Ditto,” he says with a tired, dry tone of humor, carefully plucking Edwin’s glasses from his hand and setting them on the bedside table.

Edwin makes a noise in response that resembles a muffled groan, and Jonathan nods in agreement before taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the balcony window, gazing around the relatively large room. He’s still somewhat in shock of the hotel’s fancy interior, even if it’s only “Bloomington, Indiana fancy” as Edwin put it. Of course the inventor had stayed in far more outlandishly luxurious places, but this is nevertheless bizarre to Jonathan, who’s only real experiences with lavish locations are the Iceberg Lounge and his great grandmother’s manor. It’s understandable that he’d be on edge in such a place. Of course, the begrudging visit- awkward at its most pleasant- with Edwin’s mother, step father, and older brother hasn’t helped his mood any. Though said visit, and those in addition they’ll have to face for the next three days, are the sole purpose for the nearly 12 hour drive, neither are exactly _thrilled_. Not that it would be any easier if his mother came to Gotham instead. Christ knows nothing can be easy when she’s involved.

With a barbed sigh, Jonathan stands from his seat, simultaneously reaching for his lighter and cigarettes in his coat pocket with one hand and the sliding balcony door’s handle with the other. He stops, however, when he notices Edwin hasn’t moved much, save for crawling further across the bed until only his feet- still in his brown loafers- are left hanging off. Frowning, he pads over to the side Edwin’s head is on, gently tapping his shoulder.

“Edwin?” he asks.

The inventor groans again in response.

“Are… You alright?” Jonathan asks.

Edwin groans a third time, albeit turning his head enough to uncover and eye and look up at Jonathan.

His frown deepening, Jonathan walks over to the other side of the bed, saying, “sit up, please.”

Complying, albeit tepidly, Edwin twists around just as Jonathan sits next to him, watching him with a warmer sort of analytic look reserved only for him and a couple of others, carefully reading his expression and body language.

“Do you need a hug?” Jonathan asks, moving his arm to accommodate should Edwin say yes.

Rather than a linguistic answer, Edwin continues his avant garde method of communication by simply leaning to the side until he makes contact with Jonathan. A fan of speechless speech himself, the scientist dutifully wraps his arm around Edwin’s side, allowing his hand to rest on the other’s leg.

After a moment of companionable though slightly weighted silence, Jonathan asks, “is this about Sharon?”

“She called you a _stupid hick_ ,” Edwin says with distressed exasperation, “to your _face_ like a common greeting!”

“Your mother is a harpy,” Jonathan says simply.

“ _Then_ she expected you to clean the table for her,” Edwin furthers with a huff.

“A shrewd harpy,” Jonathan adds. Before Edwin can complain any further, he says, “I didn’t think she’d had a miraculous change of heart when I insisted on coming with you, and that’s _why_ I did so in the first place.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with her as well,” Edwin says gloomily.

“I’ve dealt with far worse individuals for lesser reasons, and you’ve put up with worse for me,” Jonathan reminds, Edwin unable to keep a small, appreciative smile at bay. Gently squeezing his arm around the other man and allowing an overly frustrated tone to affect his voice, he adds, “however, if your brother doesn’t stop trying to talk to me every chance he gets…”

“Will is just attempting to be friendly,” Edwin assures, surrendering a slight laugh.

“When have I ever enjoyed ‘ _friendly_?’” Jonathan scoffs.

“You enjoyed, and do enjoy, me,” Edwin says, leaning his head back to bat his lashes up at him.

“I was young and foolish, and it is a mistake that’s stayed with me since,” Jonathan faux laments.

Giving him a look, Edwin says, “Jon.”

The slightest crooked smirk creeping across his face, Jonathan chuckles quietly and squeezes Edwin again, resting his cheek on top of the shorter man’s head and sighing, “let’s get dinner first, _then_ you can scold me.”

With a thoughtful noise, Edwin pretends to stretch and wraps both of his arms around Jonathan’s chest, saying, “I think not.”

“Oh?” Jonathan asks, raising an eyebrow. “Then what do you propose instead?”

Making his return to wordless communication, Edwin flops backwards, pulling Jonathan down with him, slipping his arm out from under his back and cuddling closer to him.

“Shouldn’t we put on bedclothes, or at least remove our shoes?” Jonathan asks.

“In a moment,” Edwin says with a content sigh, nuzzling against his partner’s shoulder, hands lightly holding onto his shirt.

Conceding with a slight scoff, Jonathan reaches his free arm across, fingers softly smoothing over and tracing shapes atop Edwin’s own arm. Though he’s certainly feeling better for the night, Jonathan can tell Edwin’s anxiety is still harbored within him, waiting to threaten boiling over again and again the next few days. Comfort and reassurances are in order, and, again, he insisted on coming with him for that reason. Granted lovingly teasing him isn’t off the table.


End file.
